


Object Permanence

by lexicalacuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Fluffiness, Kinda, messy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexicalacuna/pseuds/lexicalacuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy has been caught in a state of transience for some time now- and what better way to remind yourself that you won't lose anything, by reminding yourself of what is there, what will stay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pretty messy fic. Wrote it on a whim. Unbeta'd.

“Damn it, where did it go?” 

Darcy was not the best at keeping tabs on things- like how she lost her Crayola pack when she was 6 (she buried it in the sand), or when she lost her damned house keys, which you know, she needed to get home.

“Perchance, were you looking for these?” Loki drawled, dangling her keys between his thumb and index finger, holding it above her, just above her head. 

Darcy made a grab for her keys, jumping to get them, swiping them before he had a chance to taunt her any further. She wasn't in a mood for games today. The filing cabinet was in a state of chaos- they had found a small colony of termites eating away at the old wood cabinet and she had to shift boxes of paperwork out before they made their way too- all while avoiding trails of the gross little things. Jane had gone ballistic, telling her off for it, reminding her that she was earning credits for her Master's course and that she should be grateful….she stopped listening after a while, moving to haul the boxes over.

She was sick of being told how lucky she was, how grateful she should be- as if she wasn't already acutely aware of all of that. She had lost her old apartment in New York after the Chitauri invasion, her friends, especially since she began moving around with Jane. 

“You should take better care of your things,” Loki admonished, as he watched her straighten her desk. Being at SHIELD meant being in close proximity to the Avengers….and the others. Like Loki.

They had a tenuous relationship, to put it lightly. Loki's manic homicidal tendencies had dwindled away with the return of the Tesseract to a secure location, leaving him more prone to mischief than ever. And leaving Darcy…well.

She was not averse to a little cheekiness here and there- but this man could be utterly insufferable. Bitch had things to do and he just had to get in the damned way.

“Not in the mood, Loki,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“That's not very nice,” Loki tutted, as she pushed past him, moving towards the carpark.

One of the perks of working at SHIELD was the apartment that came with it. One of the downsides was that it was on site. And guess who lived just across the corridor.

She moved towards her door, the darkwood strangely comforting. She had requested for housekeys because she did like some things to be old school. Not the fancy metallic doors that most apartments had. 

No. None of that. She liked the feel of (well, the illusion of, as Loki had very blithely put across) having something to call her own, something exclusive, something she had exclusive access to. 

She was about to put the key into the hole when she realized there wasn't one. 

“Seriously?” she cried out, frustrated, turning around, almost running straight into the god himself.

“Well, you managed to lose the lock as well? That certainly takes some skill, Miss Lewis,” Loki said with a slight snicker, throwing a knowing glance at the door. 

“Can you just..stop fucking around with me and just let me get into my fucking apartment?” Darcy seethed, banging a fist on the door.

Loki noticed the tense set of her shoulders, and the edge to her words, instantly acquiescing. 

“Good evening, Miss Lewis,” he said stiffly, turning to return to his own apartment. 

She sighed, turning the keys in her lock and moving into her apartment.

Now she felt like a jerk. 

She didn't mean to snap at him, she just had had a shit day, and the last thing she wanted was-

She shook off the extraneous thoughts as she cooked up some instant ramen, dumping in more chopped sausages and shredded cheese than she needed to, needing the flavours to overwhelm her.

___

She curled into bed last night- lord, why was it so cold?- trying to let slumber claim her.

But she found no reprieve in sleep, instead having dreams about the time her house burned down when she was 9, the way she ran to grab everything- watching her dresser melt before her eyes-

She jerked awake, sweating, her heart thrumming hard in her chest.

A dream, she told herself, a dream.

What was it about loss that haunted you, she wondered as she padded over to the bathroom.

She splashed some cold water on her face, trying to calm down, still feeling the same, smooth pounding in her chest. 

She returned to her bed, sitting cross legged in bed, trying to calm herself, assuring herself that things were alright now- that nothing bad was going to happen. 

She found herself slipping on her bedroom slippers, moving out of her room, out of her apartment, to the apartment just across.

She knocked steadily, a messy, erratic staccato until Loki came to the door. 

“What in the Nin-“ he is cut off when Darcy pushes past him, moving around his apartment. It was laid out the same way as hers, so finding the master bedroom wasn't too difficult.

She moved to his bed, curling up under the covers, nuzzling into the warmth of the bed, still slightly warm from his body. 

“What are you doing here?” Loki demanded, his voice resonating with false authority as he moved into his room, finding her curled up, her face tired, crinkled and a little scared.

“Please, just.....just for a while,” Darcy muttered, already feeling slumber slowly slip into her system. 

Loki hesitated, before nodding, cautiously slipping into bed next to her. 

He awoke, early in the dawn, with Darcy curled into his side, her head nuzzled into the juncture between his arm and torso, whimpering slightly.

“No…lost, give….” She was incoherent, but clearly upset, wriggling about.

Loki moved to wrap his arm about her, holding her against him, gently stroking her arm. 

“It's okay, it's fine,” he soothed.

Darcy jerked awake at the contact, calming when his touch soothed her. 

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, flushing as she realized the intimacy of their position and immediately moving to extricate herself, feeling very small, juvenile-silly.

Loki held onto her arm. “It's fine, stay,” he said in a quiet, solemn voice.

She glanced back at him, finding no mirth or laughter in his face. She had never heard him sound so earnest. 

She pauses, before nodding. She sits in the bed before she slowly slides back down and unabashedly nuzzles into his side, hiding her embarrassment, just needing the soft warmth of his body to calm her again.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered again and again, her hand curled in his shirt. 

Loki was unused to this, having another seek refuge in his touch.

“It's fine, Darcy, you're always welcome here.”

He was surprised himself when the words came out from his mouth.

Darcy mumbled her assent, slinging an arm over his body, pulling herself closer.

Loki smiled in spite of himself, her actions were endearing. 

Maybe it was nice to let things stay for once, he decided as his own arm came to drape over her, keeping her nuzzled into his side.


	2. Darkest Before the Dawn, they say.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same tale (kind of) but with the focus on Loki.
> 
> Also- kind of OOC characterization at some junctures, disjointed organization, unbeta'd but hey um...it's fluffy. I
> 
> If that's of any consolation.
> 
> Enjoy????

****Object Permanence: when deception no longer can cower in darkness  
  
Deception was a comforting thing.  
  
“How do you sleep at night?”  
“How do you live with yourself?”  
  
These were queries that didn’t quite resonate with Loki- or that’s part of the public transcript anyway.  
  
Still waters ran deep and judging from the smooth snide responses that Loki offered to any jibes or accusations about his ethics or conspicuous lack there of, he would gloss over smoothly.  
  
And these were a dime aplenty, especially since his contact with the Midgardians shifted to something a lot more cordial and frequent after the incident in New York.  
  
Deception was simple, reliable- convenient.   
  
\----  
  
They assumed that he was pallid, pale, a “Severus Snape” as Darcy had so charmingly called him, whatever a Snape was. (He did not pay much heed to the babblings of the manic child)  
  
They assumed that the shadows under his eyes were natural, part of the trope, that all these villainous sorts had pale dabbings of violet blooming under the thin parchment of skin, the lines etched there from the various schemes his cunning mind formulated.  
  
Never once had they considered that even one like him might’ve required a night’s rest, and that it had consistently evaded him for a while now.  
  
\----  
  
He assumed that it was an outlier, a poor night’s rest induced by the harried weariness brought on by battle and war.  
  
He never expected it to protract beyond that.  
  
So began the string of relentless tossing and turning, of slipping into a deep slumber for a split moment before jerking out of his sheets, brow soaked with perspiration, the warmth of his magic tingling at his fingertips.  
  
He turned to reading, to try and dull his senses, to let the tide of words wash over him and to slowly meld into inscrutable vortex of charcoal runes and alphabets, to wear his mind down till it had no choice but to relent and surrender to the dark void that beckoned.  
  
The void was always there, but so were the hot flashes of fire creeping along the network of veins across his arms, so were the sharp jolts of pain snagging under his chest and ribs, the heavy weight upon his chest, asphyxiating him.  
  
He would never admit to the fear the seized him when the immovable force of darkness lay immovable upon his chest, when he seemed shackled within his own self, with gravity chaining him to a single position.  
  
He would thrash, frightened yelps torn from his throat that he could scarcely recognize as his own. He would flail helplessly against the seemingly Heruclean force bearing down upon him, thinking that naught could be done, only to come up free, nearly falling off the bed, his head pounding, a wet throb was all he could hear.  
  
He would wake at times, palms bleeding, or burnt, his own work, a defense spell turned on its caster, his fear disrupting the direction of the energies, causing it to turn and snare itself, like a vicious ouroboros, not unlike this ceaseless cycle he was caught in.  
  
\----  
  
So when Darcy came to him that night, he will admit (privately) that there was a measure of relief to seeing her.  
  
Not that he enjoyed the sight of her.  
  
Not that he would admit.  
  
But that he saw his own fear and insecurities echoed in her expressing, in the tense crease of her brow, the worrying of her lip between her teeth, her fingers helplessly grasping at the air, telegraphing her edgy demeanour.  
  
So he had welcomed her into his bed, because she needed the help, he told himself.  
  
\----  
When she thrashed and whimpered that night, he had woken her, reflexively, without any hesitation or consideration, a slight bitterness welling inside that he had no one to do the same for him.  
  
But he could not help the slight tenderness that crept in as she drew close, unaware that her presence was the balm _he_ needed.  
  
\----  
  
She returned after that night, and while others nudged, winked and speculated, nothing remotely lascivious transpired between the two.  
  
She would always return on the pretext of something else: that she had left her hair band there, that she made too much pasta, that Jane ditched her for Thor, that she was bored and wanted to bug him- and he would welcome her, their witty repartee following as scheduled.  
  
But she would stay, she never had an excuse for that.  
  
She would fall asleep typing a report, reading a book, watching a video, using her phone- she would slowly slip off into slumber, and the moment her breathing reached a stable enough cadence, Loki would gently carry her to his bed, and move in after her.  
  
\---  
  
The second night she slept over, he had left a berth between them, telling himself that this was a service to her, and as a gentlemen- Frigga had raised them to know better- he would give her her space.  
  
But he would not deny the slight leap in his chest as she moved close, seeking warmth…his touch maybe?...even in her sleep.  
  
He would not sleep, laying still, nodding off on occasion, but nothing deep enough for the terrors to seize him.  
  
He would lay awake, idly stroking her hair as he turned the pages of his current tome, occasionally glancing down to study her features, not even minding the soft grunts and snores she made in her sleep.  
  
And so it continued, a cycle that still left him deprived of sleep, but somehow less aggravated than before.  


\----  
  
Loki never fell asleep.  
  
But yet, he did, one night, and the darkness engulfs him, an inky abyss that never abated, the same feeling of dread clawing its way into his gut, the same shuddering fear rippling through him, and soon, he’s the one thrashing and yelping again.  
  
\----  
  
Darcy starts when she hears Loki yelp, jerking up, finding his face tight with fear and tension, fists clenched, the tendons on his neck bunched.  
  
She rouses him, shaking him until his eyes fly open, wet and glistening at the corners.  
  
His breathing is off, slight wheezes interspersing the ragged panting.  
  
He catches her gaze very briefly before it falls away and he turns away from her, hands still bunched in the sheets, slight patches of crimson in his cheeks as his shame eats at him.  
  
“Loki…” Darcy starts, reaching out a hand to touch him.  
  
He jerks away, as if her touch were as scorching as the agony biting through him as he writhed, shuddering.  
  
“Please…just leave.” He murmurs.  
  
She makes a small noise of impatience, crawling over to sit in front of him, coming up on her knees as both hands cup his face.  
  
“You too?” she murmurs, searching his face for acquiescence to a question she already knew the answer to, his gaze never meeting hers.  
  
He mumbles a half hearted dismissal, shame and embarrassment still roiling in his gut that another had paid witness to his fear play out in a moment of vulnerability.  
  
“Loki,” Darcy starts, her voice soft.  
  
“Is this not enough for you?” he snaps, forcing as much acrimony as he could muster in his state into his tone. “Why are you not taking your leave?” he hisses, wanting her to leave him to his shame and fear.  
  
  
Hurt bit at Darcy, his words sharp, but not as sharp as the tense, fragile edge of his voice, and her breath hitched for a moment before she sighed, her hands relaxing on his face, gently stroking it.  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, Loki,” she murmured.  
  
And before he can mock her, to hurt her so she leaves this time, before he can drive the stake through her- she beats him to it, fielding him with a blow that stutters his words.  
  
Her hands shift, and soon they’re around him, trapping him in an embrace.  
  
  
The unexpected warmth of her embrace throws him off, and his bitter words catch in his throat as Loki’s eyes widen, the tears finally spilling over as he unexpectedly finds such potent comfort in her touch.  
  
She is not discouraged by his lack of response, but instead draws closer, her arms tightening slowly about his neck and shoulders as she closes the space between them, pressing her cheek lightly against the top of his head, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily.  
  
“It’s alright,” she murmurs, a hand gently stroking his back.  
  
  
It seems like an eon, as Loki’s arms come up out of their own accord and wrap themselves tightly about the girl, holding her close to him as he buried his face against the juncture between her chest and shoulders, shuddering sobs clawing their way out of him.  
  
She is glad to hold him, a strange comfort settling in her own stomach that she could do for him what he had done for her.  
  
She’s muttering things, nice things, soothing things, trying to comfort the god now shuddering in her touch.  
  
He eventually stills, but his arms remain tight about her.  
\------  
  
She shifts and he feels a slight well of panic that she’s leaving, but she moves nearer to the headboard, gently pulling her with him, and she tugs him down.  
  
He lets her, his mind completely blank and receptive at that juncture, and she pulls him down to lie against her, her arms pulling around him again.  
  
And this time, he succumbs, surrendering to the soft, comforting warmth of her touch as he tentatively shifts to lie against the arch of her neck, the tip of his nose lightly brushing the tender skin of her neck as he pulls closer to her, tangling his limbs with hers as he lies by her.  
  
Her arms come about him, holding him close, and an arm slings about her middle, curling about her back as he stays cradled to her side.  
  
“I’ve got you,” she murmurs.  
  
She hesitates this time, before gently pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  
  
“I’m here,” she murmurs, her fingertips lightly grazing the top of his cheeks before moving to his back, holding him flush against her.  
  
He smiles then, a thin, watery smile as he burrows into the curve of her neck, sighing.  
  
“Thank you, Darcy,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against her skin, as his own lips graze her neck, a quiet offering of gratitude. His heart had settled, his breathing reaching a more even, calm cadence, an unexpected peace settling over him.  
  
She stills slightly at the touch before relaxing, a smile on her lips as she holds him, gently caressing his form.  
\----  
  
And for the first time in a while, the pair actually get to enjoy the rest they deserve, ensconced in the arms of an unexpected other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought that Loki would have PTSD, and that he would have issues like this.


End file.
